Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

“You sent her a diploma.” Carolyn smiled, pleased to know that week had meant something to May Flower Dawn, that those few days in Merced had left her daughter with fond memories of Oma.

“The journal she sent me is leather and has my name engraved in gold. May Flower Dawn. I have it with me. I think of Oma every time I open it. I followed Oma’s lead. I didn’t write a lot of teenage nonsense in it. I wrote goals, favorite Scriptures, meaningful dates, places Jason and I have lived, dreams…” She smiled wistfully. “I wish I’d known Oma better. Oma’s journal meant more to her than jewelry, a car, or money, Granny. She gave you the best of herself.”

Carolyn’s mother looked surprised-and a little perplexed.

The lights flickered and went out, enclosing them in complete darkness. “Wow.” Dawn’s voice sounded louder in the inky wrapping. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

Carolyn hated the darkness. “I forgot the kerosene lantern in the garage. Where’s a flashlight?”

“In one of the kitchen drawers, under the dish cabinets-middle I think-but the batteries are probably dead.”

Carolyn fumbled around in the darkness, opening drawers and feeling through contents.

“Just wait a minute, Carolyn. Or did you forget you and Mitch put in a generator? There it goes.” A distant whir sounded, and then noise.

Dawn laughed. “No muffler on that baby.”

The lights came on. Relieved, Carolyn returned to her seat. Her mother sat calmly, hands folded on the table. “I don’t think I ever thanked you, did I?”

“No. You didn’t. But then we didn’t ask your permission either.” If they couldn’t get her to move, they’d make sure she had heat and power. Four thousand dollars, not to mention the money spent on a lawyer who took over the fight with the Coastal Commission, and not one word of thanks until now.

After clearing and washing the dishes, Carolyn joined her daughter and mother in the living room. She hesitated on the threshold when she saw them on the couch, May Flower Dawn holding her granny’s hand on her abdomen. They spoke in whispers. Biting her lip, Carolyn stepped back. She felt like an intruder. Mom glanced up and frowned. “Why are you standing there? Come feel the baby moving.”

Carolyn treaded carefully around the stacked boxes and knelt in front of them. Dawn took her hand and placed it on her abdomen. Carolyn didn’t feel anything. Dawn sighed. “Little Miss must have fallen asleep again.” Carolyn rose and sat in the yellow swivel rocker.

Her mother pushed herself up and settled into her recliner. “This is nice, having the two of you here, together.”

Dawn grinned. “Three girls on a sleepover.” She winced in pain and shifted on the couch until she looked more comfortable. Carolyn remembered the final month of pregnancy when her babies had pressed against her rib cage and bore down on her pelvis. The last month was the hardest.

Dawn yawned. She looked so tired.

“Why don’t you go to bed, May Flower Dawn?”

“It’s only eight, Carolyn.”

“She looks exhausted, Mom.”

“I’m not ready for bed yet.” Dawn gave them both a tired smile. “I want to sit and visit.”

“You can lie down and visit.” Carolyn got up and lifted Dawn’s legs onto the couch. “Your ankles are swollen.” Dawn murmured a weary thank-you and said not to worry. Carolyn tucked a needlepoint pillow under her head and draped a soft, white knitted blanket over her. She brushed a wayward strand of blonde hair back from her daughter’s face. She was perspiring. “Do you have a fever?”

Dawn took her hand. “Relax, Mom. It’s a lot of work carrying around an extra thirty pounds.”

Carolyn took her seat and watched Dawn fall asleep. She snored softly. “I guess she is tired.” After a few minutes, she fidgeted in her chair. She felt night fold tight around them, the glass their only barrier against it. “I guess we could go through the boxes.”

“I don’t want to go through those boxes.” Her mother shook her head. “Not tonight. Besides, Dawn would probably get a kick out of it.” She rubbed her leg as though it ached. “You stood in the doorway just now. Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Stand outside a door, peer around corners, listen in.”

Carolyn felt the words like a slap. “Like a sneaky little mouse, you mean. Like I’m planning to steal a bit of cheese?”

Mom looked shocked. “No.” She shook her head. “Like you don’t belong. Like you’re waiting for an invitation.”

“I was told to stay out.”

“Who told you that?”

Why not tell the truth? Mom never spared her feelings. “You did. You said you never wanted me anywhere near you.”

“That’s a lie!” Her eyes darkened in anger.

Carolyn pressed her lips together. She should have known better than to say anything.

“I suppose Oma told you that!”

Heat flooded Carolyn. “You always blame Oma for everything, but I remember you yelling right into my face, ‘Get out of here… Get away from me.’ Not Oma.”

“When did I ever do such a thing?”

“It’s the earliest memory I have.”

Mom’s expression changed, as though remembering. “When you brought me a bouquet of flowers…”

“Wildflowers. You didn’t want them.”

“You dropped them. They scattered all over the floor. I picked them up. Oma brought me a vase.”

Picked them up? Put them in a vase? “I never went into your room after that.”

Mom looked stricken. “I was sick, Carolyn. Don’t you remember how sick I was?”

Carolyn didn’t want to go back and visit that time. She wanted to close the trapdoor that had sprung open. She didn’t want to look down into the darkness and see what lay hidden there.

“I had tuberculosis. No one but Dad and Oma were allowed in my room, and they had to take precautions. Do you remember any of that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I loved you, Carolyn.”

Loved. Past tense. Why talk about the past? Why bring it up at all? Chel told her once that just because you were family didn’t mean you got along. Her father hadn’t liked her. “You just live with it and move on,” Chel said. “Don’t waste energy trying to make them love you.”

Chel. Why was she thinking about Rachel Altman now? Why were her words ringing in Carolyn’s head after all these years? Twice in the last few hours.

Carolyn tried to close that door on the past, but memories kept flooding in. She remembered sitting in the tall grass, plucking petals from a daisy. She loves me; she loves me not; she loves me; she loves me not…

Oma loved her.

Mom and Dad loved Charlie.

Charlie. Oh, Charlie. The pain came up quick, squeezing her heart.

“What are you thinking about, Carolyn?”

“Charlie.” She spoke without thinking. Did the mention of her brother still bring Mom pain? “Sorry.”

Mom appeared calm, pensive. “What about Charlie?”

“He told me you got sick after I was born.”

“Not right away. I let myself get run-down. I knew better. I’d had TB before.”

“When?”

“Your father and I were courting. I thought you knew all this.”

“I guess I don’t know anything.”

“I spent months in Arroyo del Valle Sanatorium. I got better, but the disease is always there, hiding, waiting. When I got sick again after you were born, I thought I was going to die. Oma came so I could come home. Die at home, I thought. I didn’t want to leave your dad in debt. So Oma moved in and… took over everything.” She smiled sadly. “That may be what gave me the incentive to get well-watching Oma take over my family.”